in which adventures descend upon the would-be vagabond and recluse."
"Where are you staying?" demanded Lady Drewitt, with the air of one not to be trifled with.
"At the Ritz-Carlton."
"The Ritz-Carlton!" Lady Drewitt's lorgnettes fell from her nerveless hand and her jaw dropped.
"A little bourgeois perhaps," admitted Beresford, "but it's really quite respectable."
"You will come and dine with me to-night, Richard." There was grim determination in Lady Drewitt's tone.
"I'm afraid I cannot, Aunt Caroline, I"
"Then lunch to-morrow."
"As a matter of fact I am engaged for all meals for the next six weeks." Beresford had determined not to risk missing the Rain-Girl by either lunching or dining away from the Ritz-Carlton.
Lady Drewitt continued to stare.
"If I may run in to tea one afternoon," he suggested.
"To-morrow, then, at four." Lady Drewitt's jaws closed with a snap.
With a smile and a bow Beresford lifted his hat and strolled away, feeling that there were compensations in a life that permitted a man to refuse two invitations from a wealthy relative.
Lady Drewitt drove home, and beside her sat Mrs. Edward, who had just remembered with a sigh of misgiving that she and her husband were dining that night with their "dear Aunt Caroline."
